New York. My hands are in my suit pockets, and a strange feeling is burning a hole in my stomach.
Claire Anderson.
Beautiful, smart, and proud.
No matter how many times I’ve tried to wipe her out of my mind over the last three days since our meeting, I can’t.
The way she looked, the way she smelled, the curve of her breasts through her silk shirt.
The fire in her eyes.
She is the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in a long time, and her heartfelt words are playing on repeat.
“So . . . don’t you fucking dare sit there with that smug look on your face and threaten me. Because believe me . . . Mr. Miles, whatever you’re dishing out isn’t half as bad as losing him. I’ve already been to hell and back, and I will not have some rich, spoiled bastard make me feel like shit.”
I take a seat at my desk and roll a pen beneath my fingers as I mentally go over what I need to say. I have to call her and follow up on our meeting, and I’m dreading it. I exhale heavily and dial her number. “Claire Anderson’s office.”
“Hello, Marley. It’s Tristan Miles.”
“Oh, hello, Tristan,” she replies happily. “Are you after Claire?”
“Yes, I am. Is she available?”
“I’ll put you straight through.”
“Thank you.”
I wait, and then she answers. “Hello, Claire speaking.”
I close my eyes at the sound of her voice . . . sexy, husky . . . enticing.
“Hello, Claire. It’s Tristan.”
“Oh.” She falls silent.
Fuck . . . Marley didn’t tell her it was me.
An unfamiliar feeling begins to seep into my bones. “I just wanted to see if you were okay after our meeting. I’m sorry if I upset you.” I screw up my face . . . what are you doing? This is not in the plan.
“My feelings are no concern of yours, Mr. Miles.”
“Tristan,” I correct her.
“How can I help you?” she snaps impatiently.
My mind goes blank . . .
“Tristan?” she prompts me.
“I wanted to see if you would like to have dinner with me on Saturday night.” My eyes close in horror . . . what the fuck am I doing right now?
She stays silent for a moment and then replies in surprise, “You’re asking me out on a date?”
I screw up my face. “I don’t like the way we met. I would like to start again.”
She chuckles in a condescending tone. “You have got to be kidding. I wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last man on earth.” Then she whispers, “Money and looks don’t impress me, Mr. Miles.”
I bite my bottom lip . . . ouch. “Our meeting was nothing personal, Claire.”
“It was very personal to me. Go and find a bimbo to wine and dine, Tristan. I have no interest in dating a cold, soul-sucking bastard like you.” The phone clicks as she hangs up.
I stare at the phone in my hand. Adrenaline is pumping through my system at her fighting words.
I don’t know whether I’m shocked or impressed.
Perhaps a bit of both.
I’ve never been rejected before and definitely never been spoken to like that.
I turn to my computer and type into Google: Who is Claire Anderson?
Chapter 2
Six months later
I read the invitation in front of me.
MASTER YOUR MIND.
Oh God, what a crock of crap.
I need to get out of this—I honestly can’t think of anything worse.
“I think this is going to be great for you,” Marley says.
I look up to my trusty best friend as she does her best sales pitch, trying to push me out of my comfort zone. I know her heart is in the right place, but this is just going too far. “Marley, I can tell you straight up, right now, that if you think a motivational conference with all those crazies is going to help me, you are more insane than I ever realized.”
“Stop it; it’s gonna be fantastic. You go away, regroup, and refocus, and you’ll come back refreshed, and the company and your life and everything else is all going to fall into place.”
I roll my eyes.
“Come on—can we at least agree that you need to change your mind-set?” she asks me as she sits on my desk.
“Possibly.” I sigh, dejected.
“And it’s not your fault you’re flat. You’ve been through so much: your husband’s unexpected death, caring for three boys, and struggling to keep the company afloat. It’s been hell. And realistically you’ve been fighting since Wade’s death five years ago.”